Retribution
by Anna Greenway
Summary: Rewrite. Sequel to Memory. After Catherine's accident, the team are forced to endure a teamwork seminar, but all does not go to plan ...


_Apologies to those I stuffed around in my attempt to do this as a WIP. Decided it wasn't working, stepped back to modify it. Here is the rewritten complete story._

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**RETRIBUTION**

After the accident, the retribution arrives. It comes from Ecklie, who summons them to his office at the end of shift, and then pauses, hands on hips. He offers no greeting, but this does not surprise Sara. For the past six weeks he has been cordial only to Catherine. As they stand lined up like schoolchildren, the silence prickles with his frustration. Eventually he takes a glossy blue folder, and drops it onto the desk with an echoing _thwack_.

"Pack your bags," he orders.

A moment passes while they wait for an explanation, but none comes. Sara catches a glimpse of a photo of an adventure ropes course, and suspects she knows what the pamphlet is about. Yet there is something to be said for playing dumb.

"Is that a case, or did you just kill an unsuspecting fly?"

His hard eyes singe her. To her right she senses her colleagues' heads turn, a flicker of disbelief.

"It's your last chance," he clarifies.

"Last chance for what?"

"To prove you're a team," he says firmly. His eyes pass over them all, drumming the message in. He then takes a stack of similar folders from his desk, and hands one to each of them. "It's the seminar we spoke about. Four days, three nights. Two days of first aid, two of teamwork. You're expected to complete all the exercises as instructed."

She sees Nick staring, absorbing the threat. Warrick opens the folder, confused, and Catherine raises an eyebrow.

Sara changes track, adopting a careful tone.

"With all due respect, we all know that what happened out there was an accident. You're implying we did something wrong, that there's an issue with our team."

Ecklie's reply is swift.

"If you'd been a _team_, it never would have happened. You would have looked out for each other. That means bringing adequate supplies before you set out, ensuring appropriate clothing and footwear, the correct safety gear, and having the commonsense to ensure your colleagues don't step so close to the edge."

His response bites. Catherine opens her mouth to argue, but no words come.

In the simmering silence, he sighs, softening.

"You're good at your jobs, okay? We all know that. But there's a difference between a collection of indifferent, skilled individuals, and a fully functioning team. And in this lab, with the danger we face every day, I need you to be a team. If you can't do that, I'm going to have no choice but to reorganise our people."

He pauses for effect, giving a shrug as though awaiting their response.

"The ball's in your court."

XXX

As the days pass, the memory fades. Under the blistering Nevada sun Ecklie's sting dulls to a distant ache. By the time they reach the mountain retreat, Sara is fighting a smile. Sprawled on her back like a starfish, the hard floor digging into her spine, the first aid training feels like a welcome break. As she contemplates the roof rafters, she wonders how long it has been since she had four days off in a row, with her only instructions to bond with the team. Outside the function room's floor to ceiling windows, the scorching afternoon sun grazes the rolling mountain forest. In the room the casual-clothed detectives are tossing innuendo like a game of badminton. She listens to Brass scold them, locking their attention onto the task at hand.

She sees Nick looking down at her, a smile curved on his lips.

"You know you're meant to look hurt, right?"

She works hard to rein in her smile, and finally succeeds.

"I'm in agony," she says seriously.

"Yeah, right," Warrick says, eyeing her. "Don't quit your day job. You're a bad actor."

She opens her mouth to retort, but Grissom cuts her off. Like Brass, he has found no humour in the training. Recent memory has shaped him into a model pupil.

"Let me remind you we're taking this seriously. If anything ever happens, we need to be able to rely on each other to know how to react. You need to be able to perform first aid like a reflex."

"Okay," Nick nods.

They drop their smiles.

She stays perfectly still as Nick, Warrick and Catherine kneel beside her. The head-to-toe examination is one of the first things on the agenda, and the trainer creates the mock exercise to hone their skills. Catherine's fingers touch gently on her scalp, her eyes raking over her skin. Throughout the morning she has demonstrated no awkwardness in the role plays. Nick and Warrick, however, hesitate for a split second at the task of running their hands all over her. It is barely a moment, yet Grissom notices.

"Don't hesitate," he coaches. "In a real situation you won't have time to feel awkward. Just explain what you're going to do, keep her informed."

"Right," Warrick says. He swallows, as if wishing Grissom had not noticed.

"Just like a reflex, guys," Catherine repeats. She probes her way firmly over Sara's collar bone and shoulder. Her technique is professional, without fault.

Warrick follows her lead, tracing the bone down Sara's left arm.

"I just think the odds of us ever having to do this on each other are long," he explains. "It was a long shot that it would ever happen once, much less the chance of it ever happening again."

"Never say never," Catherine replies.

Her voice is laced with memory. No one answers.

XXX

The news of an overnight campout blindsides them. It is when Ecklie makes a passing enquiry into their preparation that they look to their itinerary, and see it buried in the middle of a plethora of teamwork exercises. They stare at each other in disbelief, but Ecklie is firm that they participate. There is no room to protest. When Sara compares her itinerary with that of Brass and Sofia, it becomes apparent that they are the only team signed up. She does not need to search for Ecklie's motive. Her mind returns to Ecklie's stinging words in his office, and she knows the hike is to bond their team. She knows it is also to prove that they can work effectively together to complete the task without incident, and hike the four miles each way without the aid of a helicopter evacuation.

It is in the afternoon of the following day that they proceed down to the treeline to meet the ranger. As they collect their gear and study the map, the heat of the day is already easing, the late afternoon sunlight streams through the trees with a golden glow. A wooden sign pitched at the head of the track marks their meeting point, and it is there they gather with their packs. Sara studies the first visible stretch of track with a cautious eye. It is not steep, and the ranger assures them it is an easy hike to the camping spot, yet trepidation settles uneasily within her. She reassures herself that they are all fit, that even Catherine's symptoms are now restricted to only the occasional headache.

"You all set?"

Grissom is beside her, a wide brimmed hat on his head, his pack already on his shoulders.

"I'm ready," Sara replies.

Her own anorexic pack is resting against the sign. Despite the overnight stay, she has deliberately kept it light. It contains the bare minimum sleeping bag, mat, water and snacks, as well as a light weight dome tent to be shared with Catherine. She automatically slipped the tent into her own bag, wanting to minimise the burden on her colleague's injured frame. She had, too, caught Grissom studying their footwear, and she knows Ecklie's words are still fresh in his mind. She knows a well-equipped first aid kit is in the bottom of his pack.

"We ready to leave?" Catherine asks, glancing around.

She has a hat over her red hair, and her pale arms and neck are layered with sunscreen. Behind her back, Sara catches Nick looking at her leg, observing how well she holds herself under the weight of the pack.

"Hey look who's here," Warrick comments, nodding toward the lodge.

They look up to see Brass and Sofia striding casually down toward them. Sofia squints under the assault of sunlight. Behind her in the main building, Sara hears a sound system crank its way up, a pounding beat of rock music dimming the hum of the summer insects. She knows the drill; that the lodge is well supplied with alcohol, and as the sun dies the party will come alive. She can already hear a chorus of masculine laughter reverberating through the windows.

"You come to see us off?" Catherine asks.

Brass nods, but does not smile. He casts his eyes over their packs.

"You're all set then."

"Ready for liftoff," Nick chimes.

"Maybe you should come with us," Sara says, nodding toward the lodge. "Sounds like the party's getting started."

"Like supervising a bunch of kids," he says flatly. "Gonna be a long night."

There is a brief silence as Warrick zips his pack closed, and Sara slips on her sunglasses. Brass' eyes move over them, lingering for a moment on Catherine, and then he sighs.

"Look," he says awkwardly, "you guys are okay with this, right?"

Sara meets his eyes, and sees them wracked with concern he would rather not have to express.

"C'mon," Nick says, voice positive, "Four mile hike, a few hours under the stars - it's a vacation."

"Other people pay for this stuff," Sara adds. "We get it for free."

She smiles to reassure, at the same time working to hide her own anxiety. Neither Brass nor Sofia tackle their false reassurances, but nod in pity and understanding. Somewhere inside Sara feels touched by the gesture of their presence, the concern and united support which emanates from their eyes.

"Well just take it easy, huh?" Brass asks, his eyes flitting to Catherine. "Don't push yourselves."

"Paranoia," Catherine dismisses. She zips her pack closed with one swift movement and hoists it confidently on her shoulders. "We'll be fine."

"All I'm saying is ... I hope that's true."

Catherine at last meets his eyes, but they are so full of concern that she sighs.

"Look," she says, "I have a full medical clearance -"

"Oh, I'm not arguing," Brass says quickly. "I'm just sayin' that if it were one of my team who tumbled down that cliff, the last thing I'd be doing is signing them up for an eight mile trek. You know what I'm saying?"

A moment passes. Sara doesn't dare comment.

Brass shrugs, a helpless gesture. "Any decent manager would know that, right?"

Catherine does not respond, but her eyes betray her agreement.

"Just take care of yourselves."

He gives her a brief paternal pat on the arm, and then turns, heading back toward the lodge. Sofia steps toward Sara and Grissom, lingering for a moment.

"I'll keep my cell phone on," she tells Grissom quietly. "We won't be getting much sleep tonight."

Sara expects Grissom to reassure her, but he does not. His eyes lock with hers for a brief moment, and something passes between them.

"Thank you," he says simply.

Sofia nods, offering a small smile.

"Good luck."

She turns and follows Brass back toward the lodge. Sara feels trepidation again bubbling within her, and again quashes it. The ranger had reassured them that the entire reserve had full cell phone reception, but it is the wilderness nevertheless, and they will be a long way from aid, encased in darkness.

"Are we ready?" Warrick asks, joining them.

"Let's do it," Sara answers, hoisting a confident smile.

She takes her pack from its position leaning against the sign, and hoists it up. She feels Grissom reach to help, briefly touching her shoulder.

Catherine squints down the smooth, well-marked track.

"C'mon," Warrick says, "Kids do this stuff all the time. Can't be that hard, right?"

The path crunches under their feet as they start to walk. No one comments.

XXX

They reach the campsite at sunset. Several hours later they lay sprawled under the blanket of stars, a crackling fire glowing at their feet. Sara lies on her back, watching the dot of a satellite drift across the night sky. The night is like a drug, the warmth of the fire caressing her bare feet, the tightly packed forest a tranquil gathering of shadows. The hike was long, and her muscles feel heavy with exhaustion. They talk softly against the silence. She listens to Catherine, Warrick and Nick reminisce about times they've been stargazing. Grissom is silent, his eyes admiring the insects that dance just out of reach of the flames. After a while Sara closes her eyes and the voices of her friends dim into the distance like a lullaby, and she finds herself riding her own memories. She remembers sitting in the lumpy front seat of her father's truck, stopped on the side of the road as they gaze at the streaks of brilliant colour of a meteor shower. The stench of his cigarette smoke assails her nostrils, and yet his company for once is pleasant. She does not think about the other memories, but lets the universe calm her as it did so long ago.

Their voices fade and she feels herself drifting. Warrick's hushed voice breaks her reverie.

"Is she asleep?"

She hears leaves and bracken crunch as someone shifts to check.

"I don't know," Catherine whispers.

"Sara?" Grissom asks.

She wrenches herself out of the nothingness.

"I'm awake," she slurs.

"You sure about that?" Nick asks, sounding amused.

"Maybe you should get some rest," Grissom suggests pointedly.

She does not think she can get up, and her muscles feel heavy and exhausted as she attempts it. When she opens her eyes she sees the orange light flickering over her colleagues' faces, their eyes on her in a mixture of amusement and concern. A short distance behind them are their three tents, and the thought of crawling into her thick sleeping bag suddenly feels so inviting.

"You okay?" Warrick asks, looking puzzled by her exhaustion.

"Tired," she admits.

She does have to mention how long the hike was - fine on its own and yet draining with a pack digging into her shoulders. She stands, stretching for a moment.

"You should put some shoes on," Warrick says, indicating her bare feet. "Ground's rough."

She shrugs, too tired to care about the leaf litter and sticks under her feet.

"I'm a big girl," she says idly.

She turns, not giving them time to argue, and walks in a drugged daze to her tent. She jerks involuntarily as something hard pierces her foot.

"Argh!"

She grabs her ankle, balancing on one foot. In the moonlight she tries to examine the sole of her foot, and sees a faint shadow of a splinter. The moonlight is blocked as her friends circle her. She feels Nick's strong arm lock around her waist, steadying her.

"I'll get the tweezers," Grissom volunteers.

He heads for his tent. Still in the grip of exhaustion, Sara lowers her foot, testing her weight. The pain is not bad.

Warrick narrows his eyes. "You shouldn't walk on that until we pull it out."

She ignores him, putting a hand to Nick's arm in thanks before continuing to the tent. She whirs up the zip, and then crawls inside. The plastic sleeping bag rustles as she lays down on top.

She hears the others follow her in, but her eyes are closed.

It is Nick's voice she hears, accompanied by his hand on her shoulder.

"You sure you're okay? You seem very tired."

She searches for a line to reassure him.

"It was a long day," she admits.

"Yeah," he says, uncertain. "Guess it was."

He does not mention that they have all survived much worse, and she is grateful. He instead squeezes her shoulder in support. A moment later she hears the click of flashlight, and feels a male hand grip her ankle.

"Stay very still," Grissom requests.

She already feels herself drifting, her body so weary that she is floating. She barely feels a prick as the tweezers dig into her skin. A moment later something damp cleans the spot, then a plastic adhesive is applied. She feels Grissom's thick fingers smoothing it down.

"You wanna crawl into that sleeping bag?" Warrick suggests. "Get some sleep?"

His words tangle, arriving in a blur. She ignores them.

She feels Catherine's gentle hand on her. "Lift yourself up a sec' -"

With Nick's urging hand, she obeys, lifting her weight for a bare second. She feels someone slide the sleeping bag out from under her. There is the harsh sound of a zip, and then hands spreading it over her as a blanket, tucking her in.

"Man, she's tired," Warrick mutters.

"Let her sleep," Catherine advises in a whisper. "She'll be fine."

Distantly, she hears them move, as though tiptoeing across some far horizon.

Grissom's voice echoes softly. "Sara, we'll be just outside if you need us, okay?"

She does not have the energy to answer as she feels sleep take her. Much later, she wishes it hadn't.

XXX

When she wakes, hours have passed. The interior of the tent is a greyscale of moonlight shadows. She can no longer hear the crackling of the fire, and can tell from the darkness that it has been long extinguished. She can make out Catherine asleep a few feet away, huddled down in her sleeping bag, her clothes neatly folded on top of her pack. She does not remember her coming in, and recalls with a twinge of embarrassment her own exhaustion mere hours before. Yet it is the tent entrance that catches her eye. The doorway is unzipped, and one side waves slightly in a cool night breeze. She narrows her eyes. The sleeping bag falls from her as she sits up.

She looks to Catherine, wondering if she left it open. She dismisses the thought as unlikely. Yet she cannot hear anything out of place, and as she moves to peek outside, the night world is still. The two tents housing the men are zipped shut. Puzzled, she reaches up for their own zip.

She stops, hand mid-air.

The moonlight illuminates her palm, and blood seeping from a sharp, inch-long cut. She feels her breath catch in her throat, and examines the cut under the moonlight. She has no recollection of sustaining the wound, and wonders what sharp object her hand connected with while asleep. She glances at the floor of the tent, but it is clear. She knows the laceration is just deep enough to need stitches. For a moment she toys with the idea of slipping into Grissom's tent, the likelihood that she can unearth the first aid kit without waking anyone. She shoots down the idea before it takes flight. It is too easy to imagine their disapproval when they inevitably find out, Ecklie's disbelief upon hearing that she waited until morning to inform them.

She eyes Catherine's still form.

"Catherine?"

She does not stir.

She lifts her voice a fraction.

"Cat?"

The sleeping bag shifts slightly in the darkness. A murmur escapes from within.

"Mmm?"

"I need your help."

She waits as a moment passes. Slowly, Catherine reluctantly rolls to face her. She has a hand over her eyes, and slurs tiredly when she speaks.

"What's up?"

Sara holds up her hand in response.

"I got blood."

Catherine's eyes hone in on the blood pool, and in an instant she is awake. She sits up, whipping down the zip on the sleeping bag with one swift motion. She emerges half-dressed, wearing her top from the day before and a pair of skimpy black underwear. Her legs are bare.

"What did you do?" she asks.

"I must have cut myself," Sara speculates.

She tries to keep her voice level, and pushes down the wisp of fear she feels stirring deep within.

Catherine's eyes lift from examining her hand, and narrow with concern on her face.

"You don't remember?"

"I ... just woke up," she admits. "The tent was open ..."

Catherine pulls aside the tent flap, her eyes scanning the clearing. Seeing it devoid of people, she takes her flashlight and clicks it on. She shines it over the floor of the tent, searching for clues as she would a crime scene. Sara tries to steady her nerves. Not seeing anything, her attention returns to her bloodied palm. Sara watches as her mind quickly prioritises.

"All right," Catherine says, "just hold it up, let me find some clothes."

Sara holds her hand raised while Catherine snatches up her beige pants atop her pack. She steps outside the tent, slipping them on under the moonlight. She zips up, then hurriedly jams her feet into her hiking boots.

"Stay there," she instructs.

Sara watches as she crosses to Grissom's tent, quietly working up the zip. Knowing the inevitable outcome of the events, Sara reaches for her own socks and shoes. She slips them on without looking. The night is silent, and Sara listens as Catherine wakes Grissom.

"Hey!" she whispers.

There is a pause.

"I need the first aid kit," Catherine explains quietly.

There is the tell-tale rustle of a sleeping bag, and then Grissom's voice.

"Are you hurt?"

"It's Sara," Catherine replies. "She's got a laceration to her palm ..."

Catherine lowers her voice to explain, and Sara misses the remainder of the conversation. She listens as there are more zips, soft thuds of movement, and then both Catherine and Grissom emerge. A white first aid kit swings from Grissom's hand, the case brightly reflecting the moonlight.

When they reach her he puts the case down, opening it with a click.

"What's the last thing you remember?" he questions, taking her hand.

"You," she answers. "You pulled something out of my foot. I fell asleep."

"That was five hours ago," Catherine supplies.

Her voice is tinged with concern. Sara tries to stay focused.

"I feel absolutely fine," she says, anticipating their next question. "I must've just touched something in my sleep."

Grissom does not reply. Glasses on, he scrutinises the wound. After a moment he gently dabs at it with a cloth, cleaning away some of the blood.

"This is going to need stitches," he concludes.

Catherine's fingers gently take her spare wrist, checking her pulse. They move to her forehead to feel her temperature. She still looks confused.

"I feel fine," Sara repeats.

They are interrupted by Nick's sleepy voice, coming from the closed tent nearby.

"You havin' a slumber party out there?"

Grissom is abrupt. "Get up, Nick."

A moment passes and both Nick and Warrick emerge. They wear t-shirts and boxer shorts, and confusion mars their faces as they approach.

"What the hell happened?" Nick asks, eyes bearing down in concern.

"It's just a minor cut," Sara supplies.

Warrick eyes the first aid kit, and then the thick pad that Grissom is holding to her palm.

"What you thought we needed homework?" he jokes. "Tryin' to get extra credit?"

Sara smiles. Though he jokes, she can see he is concerned.

"Practice makes perfect," she teases.

As she speaks she feels Catherine's fingers on the back of her shoulder, her eyes sweeping over her torso, searching for any further signs of blood.

"Are you sure you're not hurt anywhere else?" Catherine asks.

"Positive," Sara replies.

Catherine sighs, puzzled. "This makes no sense."

She feels Grissom and Catherine exchange a dark look over the top of her shoulder, though Grissom does not comment. He encloses Sara's fingers in a fist around the pad, then starts to wrap a long bandage firmly around her hand and wrist, holding it in place.

"You gonna tell us what's going on?" Nick asks.

"She needs a doctor," Grissom explains. "We'll have to cut our stay short. Pack up."

"Griss," Warrick says carefully, "it's the middle of the night -"

He is firm. "This time we're taking no risks. We get her help now. I don't want to give Ecklie any more ammunition."

"Right," Warrick replies.

Nick and Warrick retreat to their tent to pack up. Only once they are gone does Sara see the concern swim through Grissom's eyes.

"Are you sure you can walk?"

"I can walk fine," she assures. "A cut that size can't possibly bleed out. You've applied the pressure, it'll clot."

He nods, but seems to take reassurance more from her calm manner than her words. He clips the bandage in place, and then moves to apply the sling. He keeps her hand raised, tying her wrist to her opposite shoulder.

"If you begin to feel anything but fine you need to tell us," he says.

"You have my word."

He eyes her for a moment, then nods.

"Okay. Then I want you to sit tight while we gather our things." He briefly touches her arm. "We'll only be a minute."

XXX

At the mountain retreat, it is 3:00AM before the party starts to wane. Sofia sits among the last stragglers, comfortable in a seat on the long balcony. Ears ringing, it has been several hours since she gave up on the idea of getting to bed early. Now she gazes out at the starry night, nurturing her single beer. Next to her are Vartann and Brass, both having sought the same quiet corner. The night is cool but beautiful.

It is Vartann who breaks the silence. He sits with his feet up on the chair opposite, peeling the beer label from his bottle. His eyes survey the dark treetops.

"You think they're okay out there?"

"I had a call from Grissom earlier," Sofia says. "They arrived safely."

"Probably asleep by now," Brass adds.

Vartann nods, but his eyes do not leave the treeline.

"She had a pretty bad limp. Ecklie sends 'em on a hike ..."

Sofia does not need to ask who he is referring to. She watches as he narrows his eyes, struggling to follow the logic of Ecklie's decision. Brass sighs.

"Look, let me tell you how this went down. She falls, she's hurt. Goes to hospital, gets sent home for six weeks' rest. She gets bored, reports for duty before she's healed, stubbornly lies to everyone that she's fine and Ecklie's fool enough to believe her. She returns to the field, relying on Grissom and Sara to help her conceal the truth. She tells me she has a medical clearance. Well let me tell you, I saw that certificate. I saw it splattered all over the grass on the roadside. Sara barely got out of the way in time. Ecklie has no idea, he's still mad it ever happened in the first place, it's just resurrected all his issues with Grissom. Now he's just toying with them. The fact that she healed in time to do this hike is just a lucky coincidence."

"It's done now," Sofia says calmly, setting her beer aside. "It'll work out."

"He'd better hope it does," Vartann states, idly stretching in his chair. "'Cause if anything happens, I sure wouldn't want it on my head to be the one who thought it up."

He leaves the thought hanging. Sofia considers the statement as she hears her cell phone ring. She digs it from her pocket, expecting a summons but seeing Grissom's name on the face. She answers the call.

"Grissom?" she asks.

Both Vartann and Brass look at her, alerted.

Grissom's voice is calm. "Did I wake you?"

"We're still up," she admits. "Is everything all right?"

"We've had a slight hitch. Sara's cut herself. She has an inch-long laceration to her palm. We've bandaged it, but it needs medical attention. We're packing up early, bringing her out."

Sofia tries to catch his words, her head spinning with the onslaught of information.

"Is she all right?" she asks.

"She seems fine, except that she can't remember how it happened. She says she just woke up with it bleeding, roused Catherine for help."

"How can she not remember..?"

"I don't know," he admits. "She claims she must have done it in her sleep."

She sits up, feeling her senses on alert. "Grissom, there's only so many ways a person can sustain memory loss. There's -"

"She's not showing any signs of a cerebral event," he states, reading her thoughts. "When I examined the wound it was still bleeding, which indicates it was very recent. I think it was that which woke her up. She's not vomiting, her pulse and respiration are steady, she's perfectly coherent, not agitated and in no pain. If she'd had any kind of seizure or head injury she would've shown the symptoms. In any case, right now I have to give priority to the bleeding. We'll have to figure out the riddle of how it happened later."

"It's the middle of the night," she points out. "You know the dangers of hiking in the dark -"

"The track's well-maintained," he counters. "It's well marked. We'll have the flashlights and we'll take it slowly. Anyway, we're leaving now. We'll be back in just over an hour."

"Right," she says weakly. "Keep me informed."

"We'll see you soon."

She ends the call, and looks to Brass and Vartann, staring at her. She knows they overheard every word.

"Jesus Christ," Brass mutters.

Sofia wearily rubs her eyes. She knows now that sleep is not an option.

XXX

On the track, they walk in silence. The forest at night is eerie; the shadows dark and forbidding, night noises trilling from unseen nightlife. Sara listens to the rhythm of their feet, the crunch of their footwear on the fine grain track. With her free hand she shines her flashlight in front of her feet, watching carefully for every rock and tree root. Back at the clearing she had discovered it was impossible to carry her pack with her arm in a sling, and now it is carried by Nick, who balances it in addition to his own. Guilt swirls in her stomach as she watches him, as she spots them rubbing their eyes from the minimal sleep. She accepts their kindness without complaint, keeping pace without fuss.

When the track allows, Catherine walks beside her. Every so often she feels her grip her arm protectively, steadying her over a rough section of track, offering silent support when she slows for breath. They have covered more than a mile when Sara starts to feel light-headed. She perseveres for another few minutes, until the path sways before her.

She stops. Catherine's fingers tighten around her arm.

"You okay?"

"I feel dizzy," she admits.

She hears the surprise in her own voice. Nick and Warrick, who were a few feet ahead, now step back toward her. She senses Grissom at her side.

"Dizzy?" he repeats.

With a thud, Catherine swings her pack to the ground. She slips a water bottle from the side pocket.

"Here, have some water. Take a break."

Sara takes a sip. The cool water feels reassuring. She realises suddenly how warm she feels.

She hears Nick's voice. "You know you look a bit pale."

She hands the bottle back. As she does, the world tilts again. She reaches out instinctively to steady herself, and her hand connects with Grissom.

"Whoa," he says, arms locking around her frame, "you all right?"

She sinks to a crouching position, hand on her forehead.

"I feel strange ..."

Catherine quickly takes control, passing her flashlight to Warrick.

"Here, take the light."

Sara blinks as the beam connects with her face. As Grissom holds her, Catherine's fingers move to her neck, pressing firmly for a pulse.

"Your pulse is irregular," she states. "Weak."

"I feel a little faint," Sara admits. She feels her stomach somersault. "Nauseous."

Catherine's eyes become more concerned by the second. Sara feels her hand on her forehead. Another wave of dizziness rocks her. She shifts, moving to sit on the ground.

"Your temperature's elevated," Catherine continues.

"You know, she doesn't look so good," Warrick says.

"Do you feel hot?" Catherine asks. "Thirsty?"

"I guess. I -"

Grissom interrupts. "Sara, you're in shock ..."

He sounds stunned. His expression changes from concerned to alarmed.

Nick reaches forward for the sling knot, untying it.

"Check the wound ..."

"No, it can't be," Catherine says quickly, dismissing the idea. "The wound wasn't big enough to do this. It stopped bleeding before we left camp."

Nick is already unwinding the bandage.

Warrick looks confused. "Sara, you said you weren't hurt anywhere else."

"I ..."

The words escape her as she reassesses her condition. She feels her dizziness, her heart fluttering in her chest, but there is something else - a faint twinge in the sole of her foot.

"I feel the splinter," she says.

"The splinter?" Warrick repeats. "That thing was tiny. We removed it."

"Check it anyway," Grissom orders, pointing toward her boot. He sheds his outer jacket, spreading it behind her on the track. "Sara, lie down before you collapse. Cath, check her over. It's evident we've missed something."

"Right," she says.

They help her to lie down, and Sara feels the relief of flat ground beneath her. She feels Nick unfold her fist, and lift the pad from her hand.

"Wound's clean," he reports. "There's nothing here."

She stifles a wave of nausea, then feels Warrick finish with her laces, and begin to ease off her hiking boot.

When it leaves her toes, he stops. An eerie silence falls.

Warrick's voice is deathly calm. "Grissom?"

He turns. His voice trembles with shock.

"Oh my God -"

Beside her, Catherine stiffens.

She no longer feels Warrick touching her. She inclines her head.

"What's going on?"

Catherine's hand connects with her shoulder, pushing her back to the ground.

"Don't look," she advises.

"Grissom, we're gonna need that first aid kit," Warrick says. "We need the gloves -"

There is the sound of a zip being ripped open, Grissom digging in his pack.

Unable to sit up, Sara searches Catherine's eyes.

"You're bleeding," she states. "Your foot's soaked in blood."

XXX

"Bleeding?" Sara asks.

She tries to sit up, but again Catherine holds her down. She feels fear swill within her, mixing unpleasantly with her dizziness.

"Just stay calm," Catherine advises. "Try to stay still."

She feels Warrick tugging at her second boot. When it is removed she sees something flash through Catherine's blue eyes, but no one comments. She realises now that her feet feel strangely damp, her socks soaked as though with sweat.

There is the sound of them snapping on latex gloves, plastic being ripped as they open fresh bandages.

"Sara?"

Grissom waits while she meets his eyes. Distantly she feels someone peeling off her socks.

"Both your feet are bleeding," he fills her in. "I'm going to slide a pack under your knees to raise your feet while we treat them. For now, you just need to stay calm. As long as you stay calm, nothing can happen, okay?"

She nods quickly, but can no longer stifle her fear.

"Right ..."

They raise her legs over a bulky pack. Grissom's tone is still of careful, forced calm as he addresses Nick.

"Nick, take this cell phone and call Sofia. Tell her what's happened and that we're going to need help."

"Okay -"

"Cath, just stay there."

But Catherine has not moved. Sara watches as she wets a clean cloth, and then feels her gently hold it to her forehead. The cold water feels blissfully soothing as it trickles down over her skin. She takes a steadying breath.

"Just stay calm," Catherine reiterates. "You're gonna be fine."

Her fingers clamp around her wrist, monitoring her pulse.

"Let's loosen your clothing a little," she says kindly. "Give you some air."

She takes the bottom of her shirt, fanning it a little. Her fingers take the button on her jeans. Her eyes hold Sara's, seeking permission. Sara does not object, and Catherine pulls down the zip. Sara feels some small relief as her clothing is loosened, and the cool night air brushes against her skin.

She hears Warrick's voice come from her feet.

"Sara, are you sure you don't remember anything?"

She casts her mind back. "I remember feeling tired, falling asleep. When I woke the tent was open."

"I zipped it when I came in," Catherine assures. "You were out like a light."

"You're positive you didn't leave?" Grissom presses. "Not for a drink, to urinate ..?"

"I was asleep," Sara repeats.

"Well I think the evidence says otherwise. You have dirt on both your feet. When we bade you goodnight you had bare feet, and we can vouch that they were clean. You must have been up in the night. At some point you were outside, the same time at which you hurt your hand. You have broken glass all through the lacerations on your feet. You must have walked through it, maybe even tripped, reached out with your hand to catch yourself. When you returned you failed to shut the tent. When you woke us for help you'd already put on your shoes and socks. Had you looked at your feet?"

She tries to recall, and remembers watching Catherine across the clearing.

"No ..."

She takes in his words, trying to imagine his account of events.

"I didn't leave the tent," she reiterates.

"Not that you can remember," he corrects gently.

She feels the possibility shake her. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She feels Catherine's hand gently on her shoulder.

"Guys, let's just take one thing at a time."

There is a brief pause.

She feels Warrick's gloved fingers grip her ankle, holding it still.

"Sara, try not to move. I'm going to remove the glass from the wounds."

She nods. She holds still as she feels the metal point of tweezers delicately probe the sole of her foot. Warrick holds her ankle locked in his grip.

There are footsteps as Nick returns. He hands the phone back to Grissom.

"They're rounding up some help," he reports. "Coming out."

"Good," Grissom agrees.

"I don't know how you walked this far," Warrick says suddenly. "You shouldn't have been able to stand."

Sara does not comment. She has no answer.

As Warrick and Grissom continue to work on her feet, Catherine catches her eyes, drawing her attention. When she speaks, her voice is gentle and tactful.

"Look, whatever happened, the fact that you can't remember is of concern. I think we need to ask you a few questions. They may feel a bit personal, but bear with us as best you can."

Sara nods, understanding. The night is dark, and civilisation is an hour's trek. There is no room for embarrassment.

"I trust you, Catherine."

A hint of a smile passes over her lips. A second later it is gone.

"Then tell me, do you have a history of seizures? Any epilepsy?"

"No."

The question surprises her, and she had not considered it.

"You've never had any other memory loss?"

"None."

Catherine pauses a second, exchanging a look with Grissom.

"Are you taking any medication?"

Sara hesitates, picturing the content of her home medicine cupboard. Her mind drifts back to her recent struggles, her private conversation with Grissom.

"I'm ... not on anything that could cause a blank like that."

"What are you taking?"

The question is gentle, and yet she hesitates.

"We're not asking to pry," Catherine presses. "But you can trust us."

Sara takes a breath, decides to take a leap of faith.

"I'm on an antidepressant," she admits. "The contraceptive pill."

Catherine nods. She does not react.

"How long have you been on the antidepressant?"

"Close to a year."

She chances a glance at the others, but they appear uninterested. Warrick and Grissom are still pulling the glass from her feet, Nick's hand is comforting on her arm.

"You've been on it long enough to know of any side-effects," Nick agrees. "I doubt it's that."

"No drugs?" Catherine asks carefully.

"I've never taken drugs," Sara says firmly.

"There's no possibility someone could have slipped you something without your knowledge? Back at the lodge?"

Sara pauses, thinking back.

"I don't recall anything out of the ordinary."

"Are you sure?" Nick presses. "You know you were incredibly tired earlier tonight."

"There was nothing."

"Any alcohol?" Catherine asks.

"Not since last weekend."

"What's the last thing you ingested?"

Again, Sara thinks back.

"A chocolate bar," she recalls. "A little water."

Her answer is met with silence. She sees Catherine and Nick thinking, searching for an explanation which eludes them. She feels Grissom pause in his attention to her feet.

"What about sleep disturbance?" he asks. "Have you ever been known to sleepwalk?"

There is a pause.

She lets her mind drift back to her childhood, the weeks after her father's murder, the first days in foster care. She remembers waking up in the kitchen, her foster mother saying her name, wondering what she was doing. She can still feel the sense of restlessness, her body's inability to rest as the trauma wracked her every living hour. Most of all she remembers her foster mother's warm hugs, the only kindness she had known in that period.

"A few times," she says softly. "When I was young."

She looks into Grissom's eyes, trying to pass the memory without speaking. His gentle eyes lock with hers, and she sees him receive it.

The moment is broken by Warrick.

"You're not serious?" he asks.

Grissom raises an eyebrow, offers a shrug of why not.

"I can't believe anyone can shred their feet like this and not wake up. There's blood everywhere."

"People do all kinds of things in their sleep," Grissom argues. "People have been known to have sex, cook, drive, even rape or murder in their sleep."

Sara takes a breath. The thought is not comforting.

Catherine senses her discomfort. "Guys -"

She gives them a look; they fall quiet.

"Is there another explanation?" Grissom asks.

"Well yeah," Warrick says. "Just about anything. Could be something she ate, an allergic reaction, undiagnosed condition, any drug that dulled the pain long enough that she didn't even realise she was hurt -"

"Guys," Catherine interrupts.

They look to her.

"_Later_," she repeats.

XXX

Time passes. Sara feels it drift, measured by the methodical probing of the tweezers into her feet. Grissom is quiet as he concentrates. The others punctuate the silent night with their gentle reassurances. At some point she shifts to her side, rocked by somersaulting nausea, restless with sickly heat. Catherine keeps the makeshift cold compress wet on her forehead, her hand does not leave her arm. Sara closes her eyes, fighting the urge to vomit into the waiting plastic bag Catherine has placed by her mouth.

She hears Grissom's voice.

"Keep your eyes open, Sara. We need to see that you're conscious."

"I'm awake," she assures, but reluctantly opens her eyes. As she does she sees Catherine's eyes are exactly as she left them; fixed on her every move, wordlessly recording every symptom.

Nick tries to distract her.

"So the time you sleepwalked," he begins, "why don't you tell us about it?"

She inwardly cringes, the question the last thing she wants to answer.

"It was a long time ago," she says.

She does not elaborate, and hopes he will take the hint. She knows he does when he nods awkwardly.

"All right ..."

She watches as something passes over his face, an uncertainty about what he did wrong. She sees them all exchange covert glances, but no one asks. Sara feels a pang of guilt.

"It was a bad time," she explains. "Bad memories."

They nod, feigning understanding. Catherine gives her arm a gentle squeeze.

"You haven't sleepwalked since?" Catherine asks.

"No," she replies.

She can see Catherine's mind ticking over, wondering why it has suddenly happened. Sara knows the answer, though she does not dare to attempt to explain. It is only Grissom who knows the tragedy in her past, the trauma of her childhood that had remained buried for so many years. And yet over the past two years, the shattering long hours on cases, the endless horrifying violence, have broken through the thin veneer of resistance. Then there had come alcohol, the clink of glass as she regularly stacked the bottles in the garbage, the smell on her breath which even Brass had hinted at. Later still there was Ecklie, and laying her cards down to Grissom.

Sara closes her eyes, stubbornly pushing down the memories.

It is then that they hear it; a distant, faint thudding.

"You hear that?" Warrick asks.

He lifts his eyes from her feet, shines his flashlight up the darkened track.

They listen carefully. It sounds like a herd of people thundering down the track. Sara twists her head in time to see spotlights slashing through the night forest.

Sofia's voice shouts out from the darkness, though they cannot see her.

"Grissom!"

"We're here!" he calls back.

They lift their flashlights, lighting up the track. In an instant detectives Sofia, Vartann and Vega come pelting into sight. Sofia's ponytail bounces as she runs. In Vega's hand is a large first aid kit, in Vartann's an aluminium stretcher. As they reach them, they slow. All three of them are panting for breath. They clutch their knees, utterly spent.

"You guys okay?" Vega asks, eyes sweeping over the scene.

He does not wait for an answer, but moves to peer down at Sara's feet.

"_Fucking hell_," he says. A wince contracts his features. "What happened? You have a date with Jack the Ripper?"

Sara catches the look that Catherine slips him; a hint for him to be quiet. There are more clicks as Grissom opens the first aid kit passed to him by Vartann. He seizes the fresh bandages, ripping them open. On her left foot she feels Warrick finally finish removing the glass, and begin to wrap it in bandages.

"You guys," Nick says, impressed. "It's a heck of a long way."

"We ran all the way," Vartann replies. "I guess it pays to be fit."

He crouches at her feet, taking a look at the wounds. Unlike Vega, his expression is hard to read. He does not comment.

"Brass is back at the lodge," Sofia fills them in. "He's organising some paramedics, but it'll take them an hour to get there from the nearest ambulance station."

"And it's a further hour down the track," Warrick adds, quickly calculating.

"We brought the stretcher," Vega points out. He nods to her unbandaged foot. "You want to wrap that up and we can get her out of here."

Catherine stifles his hope with a look of delicate doubt. For a split second she bites her lip, steeling herself.

"I don't think we're going anywhere yet," she says.

"She's bleeding," Vega points out. "We gotta get her to hospital. She can't walk on those feet, someone will have to carry her. Personally I don't see any benefit in waiting for the paramedics to do it. It'll be two hours before they get here, potentially another two before she gets to a hospital."

Sara watches as they talk about her, and considers how strange it feels. But they do not pause.

"That's not what she means," Grissom inputs. He calmly puts the tweezers aside. Sara expects him to explain, but his eyes make contact with hers, and he does not elaborate.

"It's okay," Sara tells him. "I think we all know the score."

Catherine takes in her words, and then sighs, seeming to agree.

"She needs to rest a while. We need to keep her feet raised until the bleeding stops, keep the pressure applied. The blood loss has sent her into shock."

This information is no surprise to Sara. She has seen enough in years as a CSI to be able to identify her own symptoms. She sees the newcomers give nods, and for the moment the talk of dashing out again is put aside. She feels Grissom begin to bandage her foot. The strapping is tight.

"I'll call Brass," Vartann volunteers. "Let him know we found you."

He stands again, retreating up the track to call out of earshot.

Sofia crouches beside her, eyes studying her condition.

"How do you feel?" she asks.

She doesn't hesitate. "I'll be okay."

Sofia watches her, considering her response.

"I suppose your avoidance of the question is answer enough," she says. She points to her neck, her pulse. "May I?"

Sara nods her consent, and then closes her eyes again to relax. She feels Grissom finish with the bandage, hears the sound of the first aid kit being latched shut. There is the sound of a sleeping bag being unzipped, the soft touch of it being draped over her legs, pulled to her waist. She feels Sofia check her pulse, temperature, respiration and then circulation.

"Sara, I want you to just rest a while," Grissom says, shifting into view beside Catherine. "Just relax. We're all going to sit here a while, catch our breath, just take a moment. You don't need to feel rushed. We're not moving anywhere until if and when you feel ready."

She nods. "Thanks."

She feels her body immediately obey, sinking with exhaustion. The sleeping bag around her legs feels comfortable. Yet still her nausea shifts in her stomach, and her vision is spotty like a badly tuned television. She knows her blood pressure is low.

"Is there much blood?" she asks them.

They seem to hesitate, and then agree to avoid the question.

"What makes you ask?" Grissom queries, looking concerned.

"'Cause it feels like there is," she admits.

Their hands move to soothe her. Grissom takes her hand, giving it a squeeze. She returns the pressure, not wanting to let go.

"You're going to be fine," he says calmly. "We're not going to leave you, okay? We'll see you safely out of here."

"Just relax," Catherine adds. "We'll be right beside you until the doctor asks you to strip."

Sara nods as dizziness clouds her. She feels ill, yet trusts them. She knows they are telling the truth, and that all will be fine.

XXX

It is over a half hour later they finally lift her onto the stretcher, strapping her down. They then begin the arduous process of carrying her out, walking quietly under the canopy and the stars beyond. They take turns to carry the stretcher, though when Catherine offers to take the corner from Vartann he insists he is fine. Sara relaxes, knowing she is a burden, yet endlessly grateful for their care. The sleeping bag is warm over her frame, and though the bars of the stretcher dig into her back, it is strangely comfortable. As they walk they talk to her, querying how she feels, reassuring her. Every few minutes she feels fingers against her neck, checking her pulse is steady, and for several stetches someone holds her hand. First Catherine, Grissom, and for a while Sofia. They carry her all the way without complaint, until finally the trees thin and the stars spread unblocked over the entire night sky. They reach the mountain lodge to meet a reception of chaotic concern. Ambulance lights flash over the parking lot, LVPD officers mill with the waiting paramedics. As they emerge into the clearing, hands seize the stretcher, relieving their exhausted compatriates. As they rush her to the ambulance she catches a glimpse of terror etched into Brass' face. Before the doors close, both Grissom and Catherine climb in, taking the bench opposite as the paramedics set to work. A moment later the vehicle begins moving.

Two hours later in a deserted country hospital, Sara lies on a comfortable bed as the surgeon finishes applying stitches to her feet. Though she is no longer being held down, she does not feel a desire to look. She senses the tally long before he tells her, emitting a long whistle and a fascinated look as though she has livened up his dull shift.

"All done. Thirty-one stitches."

If anything, she feels comforted. Vega's assessment on the track had led her to fear more.

"I want you to rest a minute while I collect your blood work." He nods to a point somewhere behind her. "Your friend can stay if you like."

She twists around to see Grissom watching silently from the doorway. He looks exhausted, but there something deep in his eyes as he stares at her. She is suddenly glad that the surgeon is leaving, that they are left alone.

He takes a seat beside the bed.

"How do you feel?"

She smiles, utterly relaxed.

"I feel fine. He's gone to collect the results of the tox screen, to confirm it's clear."

"I think we both know it will be," he says quietly. "And the MRI."

She nods. She has already heard the results of the brain MRI, and that it was clear of any cerebral abnormalities. Like the tox screen, both Catherine and Grissom had been quick to fill in the medical staff on what had happened, and had insisted that she be thoroughly checked. She had already seen Grissom take aside the doctor for a private word, and the content of the conversation was confirmed when the doctor probed her extensively about her sleepwalking history, and even touched upon events of her past.

"I have the name of a sleep therapist," she tells him. "I have to make an appointment."

She expects him to agree that it's a good idea, but he doesn't.

"Do you think it will help?"

"I ... think it can't hurt."

"I think sleepwalking is not always a physiological disease. Sometimes there are other causes. Other doctors better qualified to assist."

She knows what he is getting at, and there is an uncomfortable silence. Stubborn, she does not break it.

"I think you need help," he says quietly. "As your supervisor I'm ordering you to seek it. I think it's in your best interests."

It is not often Grissom gives a firm order, and it feels unpleasant. She tries to swallow it down, willing the uncomfortable moment to pass.

"I'll get a name," she promises. "Make a call."

He holds her eyes, checking her sincerity. After a moment he nods.

"Good." He pauses. "And the others?"

She stares, blank. "Others?"

"Catherine," he says. "Nick, Warrick. Have you considered telling them?"

It needs no thought.

"No," she says quickly. "I don't think they need to know."

"I think they do," he says calmly. "I think this is clearly an issue, and maybe one that will dissipate easier if it's faced. I can't protect you against the possibility that you'll be allocated a domestic violence case. You know yourself that most of the time we don't know until we're on the scene. I think as a team - as your friends - we'll be able to support you better without the secrets."

She says nothing, momentarily closing her eyes. The logical reasons for telling them are easy to acknowledge, the thought of sitting them down and dragging herself through it again is impossible to face.

"I ... can't," she says quietly.

She looks down at the blanket, the worn weave from hundreds of patients.

His voice is gentle. "Would it be easier if _I_ did?"

She nods. She feels a wet tear on her cheek, and brushes it away.

"All right, then."

He reaches for her hand, and for a blissful moment he holds it. His grip is soft, and warm.

"It's going to be okay," he tells her.

She nods, wipes another tear.

"I know."

XXX

When the fireworks explode, it is Ecklie who lights the fuse. It is four days since the accident, only three hours since Sara's discharge from the rehabilitation hospital. Her feet beginning to heal, she is given the all clear to walk, albeit with the aid of elbow crutches. She relies on them as she walks carefully into Ecklie's office. She sees Ecklie pacing behind his desk; prowling like a caged lion. His prey - her colleagues - are standing in a silent line.

They look up as she enters. Ecklie's face is set with impatience; her colleagues track her hesitant gait with sympathy. Though they have visited her in the hospital, they have not yet seen her on her feet.

She casts them a reassuring smile.

"Hey."

"Glad you could join us," Ecklie says shortly.

He gestures to a low black seat along the wall. She ignores it, moving instead to join the line.

Ecklie slaps a hand to the door. It shuts with a crash, the blind clattering against the glass. When he turns back, hands on hips, his stinging eyes fall to her crutches.

She gets in first.

"You wanted to see us," she suggests.

She does not want sympathy. In her four days in rehabilitation, he has not even arranged a corporate get well card. Her colleagues have all visited several times.

He crosses to face them. His black eyes are those of an executioner.

"All right," he says bluntly. "Let's have it.. What the _hell _happened?"

Sara is used to the question, and knows better than to answer. Her colleagues do not flinch.

"_Grissom_?" he probes.

Grissom is calm. "You know what happened."

Ecklie's face is steel.

"It was a simple task," he attacks. "You go, you team up, you learn."

"With all due respect," Nick says, "I think we did."

Ecklie turns to him.

"We were a team out there," he adds. "If we weren't, Sara wouldn't be here."

He casts her a glance, and she accepts it. She knows now, in hindsight, how serious it was, and how much she has to thank those beside her.

"She nearly bled to death out there," Ecklie snaps. "That's _not _a success."

"It was a freak accident," Sara says, leaping in. "You don't measure the success of a team by a freak accident, but by how they react to it."

"The way I hear it, you all _slept_. She could've bled out in the tent."

Catherine's eyes widen in disbelief. "She didn't even know she was _hurt_."

"And as soon as she did know, she woke us," Warrick adds. "And we took care of it."

"We carried her all the way out," Nick agrees.

"She walked a mile with her feet bleeding into her shoes," Ecklie corrects. "You sent her into shock. We send you on two whole days of first aid training and you didn't even bother to examine her as you were trained to do."

For the first time her colleagues hesitate. No answer comes. Sara herself takes a breath, knowing that they did examine her, but not until she had collapsed on the track. It was before being loaded onto the stretcher that Catherine and Sofia had performed the thorough head-to-toe examination, sending the men around a corner for privacy before strip-searching her.

Ecklie is rigid, so tense that Sara is glad his gun is holstered.

"You're lucky we have a heavy caseload," he snaps. "That the city can't afford to have you suspended. As it is, until we figure this out you can consider yourselves chained to the strip. No remote cases, no trees, no grass, no -"

The door opens.

They turn as one to see who it is entering without knocking. Sara feels stunned as she recognises the sheriff. His imposing figure brings immediate silence.

"Sheriff," Grissom says politely.

The sheriff does not spare him a nod. His ice-like eyes take in the scene.

"They can hear you across the building," he says gruffly.

In a flash Ecklie deflates. He turns away, trying to stifle his anger.

The sheriff's eyes bore into them.

"You'll come with me."

He turns to leave. They barely glance at each other before he ducks back, and jabs a finger to Sara.

"And someone help her."

XXX

What follows is the most peculiar afternoon of Sara's career. When they step into the corridor, the sheriff is already strides ahead. He does not look back as they follow him, and they glance at each other, unsure of what's in store. It flits into Sara's mind that he may be quite happy to take them to the cells downstairs, to slam the door and dispose of the key. But he strides past empty rooms and senior offices without ushering them in, and a moment later a wall of heat slams them as they enter the sunlit street. The main road is jammed with cars and honking horns.

The sheriff pauses. His sharp eyes fall to her crutches as they catch up.

"I need a drink," he says bluntly.

He looks each way, weighing up the nearest well, and then heads right. Without a word he starts walking again, and they follow. Sara starts to feel intrigued by his behaviour, and sees Catherine raise a curious eyebrow.

Not wanting to test their luck, they follow without complaint. They weave around people on the sidewalk, cross a set of lights, and then locate him at the entrance to a classy restaurant. He is already talking to a waitress as they join them, and she leads the group to a far, secluded table. It is early afternoon, but the tables are mostly empty, the corporate world having retreated from lunch. But it is who is sitting at the table that stuns her, as she sees it is already occupied by Brass and Sofia. She knows then that it is all preplanned.

They take their seats - Sara leaning her crutches against the next table - but the sheriff does not wait to sit down.

"We need some drinks," he tells the waitress.

His eyes round up their requests, and they give them in turn. Both Catherine and Sara request water.

"I suppose that means you're still on medication," the sheriff says bluntly. He sits down with authority. "That you're not as fine as some are insisting."

The question catches Sara completely off-guard. She knows she looks like an idiot, her mouth open, not commenting. Catherine also looks thrown, but she recovers first.

"I don't like to drink before the sun sets," she says smoothly.

She does not fold under his shrewd eye, but sits calmly, back straight. She tosses her red hair over her shoulder.

He sizes her up for a moment, not believing a word of it, but then sighs. Distantly he spots a tray of drinks coming toward them, and this seems to relax him.

"I didn't pull you here to grill you," he says gruffly. "I brought you here because I'm a fair man. Before there's any talk of action or consequences, I want to hear your side of the story. Now I could shut you in a room and interrogate you, but in my forty years I've learned you're more likely to hear the truth over a relaxing drink. So why don't you indulge me, give me your version of events."

There is a pause as the drinks arrive, and are dealt out. The sheriff takes a mouthful, sighs appreciatively, and then his sharp eyes find Sara.

"Why don't you start," he suggests. "Walk me through what happened."

There is no choice. Sara takes a breath and tells the truth.

"I woke up in the night. The tent was open. I reached to zip it shut and saw my hand was bleeding. I knew I'd need help to bandage it. I woke Catherine, Grissom. They grabbed the first aid kit, treated it."

His eyes dart to Catherine.

"According to Ecklie her hand is all you treated. He claims you didn't check if she was all right."

"We did," Grissom counters calmly. "Her pulse was normal and steady. Her respiration was even. She had normal temperature, skin colour, she was calm and coherent, and reported no pain. To be on the safe side we agreed to walk her out, so she could get some stitches in her palm. We packed up early."

The sheriff's eyes still study them. Brass comes to their defence.

"Hey come on," he says calmly. "Think about this. If you get a papercut on your hand, you tell your colleagues you got it, you don't expect them to strip you. If they told you to remove your shoes you'd write them off as crazy. How Sara didn't feel the pain of it is anyone's guess. But the fact that she hiked a mile is a credit to her."

The sheriff listens, and then concedes a nod.

"You or I would have done the same thing," Brass concludes.

He nods. "Go on."

Sara listens as her colleagues tell the story. They tell of walking up the track, Sara's sudden complaint of dizziness, her collapse on the gravel. They tell of treating her, of calling Sofia for help. Sofia then takes over the story, relating how they grabbed supplies and bolted down the track to their aid. She covers Sara's condition when they found her, strapping her feet, her shock and the wait. She mentions her and Catherine's private assessment for further injuries, and then carrying her out to the waiting paramedics.

"And she was taken to hospital," the sheriff finishes, not needing to hear the rest. "So at the end of the day, what would you assess as the root cause of this?"

"It was an accident," Nick says simply. "A terrifying one, but an accident."

The sheriff does not look convinced. The lines in his face are deep.

"Grissom?" he asks.

Grissom opens his mouth, wanting to agree, but says nothing. He glances to Sara, then looks to the table. Sara knows that with his hesitation, the lies are all over.

"An accident?" the Sherriff presses.

"No," Grissom admits.

He does not elaborate, yet Sara knows it is only a matter of time. She knows that Grissom did indeed share her personal history with Catherine, Warrick and Nick, but so far none of them have approached her about it. They were, however, somehow even more caring during her hospital visits, and she could see the sympathy in the backs of their eyes.

The sheriff looks to Sofia, who is holding carefully quiet.

"You were awake when Grissom phoned you." He pauses, and Sara can read that he already knows why. "Do you think this was an accident?"

Sofia hesitates, looking deeply uncomfortable.

"I -"

"I want the truth," he presses. "Whatever that is."

But still she hesitates. Her answer is given when she looks down at the table, and fails to confirm Nick's answer.

Brass takes pity on her. He sets his drink down, sighs, and glances around the table.

"Look, let's lay our cards down, huh?" He looks to the sheriff. "Let me say what they can't. This was a foul-up by the one who conceived it, and not only because Catherine shouldn't have been out there in the first place. No competent leader would be asking her to hike anywhere. They did it under threat from Ecklie to break up their team. And yes, she's the reason we were up that night. The thing had disaster written on it right from the start. I'd be astounded if she made that trek without pain, and we all know she hasn't healed. Putting that aside, I can't call Sara's injuries an accident. I don't believe it was. Chances are she was sleepwalking, but that's no less than you'd expect from someone in a team forced to do sixteen hour shifts every day. They're sleepwalking every day out there. Every case. Whenever they get a day off, they get called in by an emergency. And the cases they see every day are enough to haunt anyone's sleep. You need to check their payroll records, take a look at their hours. 'Cause I'm sure there's a clause somewhere that says the LVPD should be taking care of their staff. You can't keep any human being under that kind of sustained pressure. Sooner or later they crack. I'd even speculate that's the reason she was so exhausted that night. It's probably the first rest she'd had in the last two years. And the reason she felt no pain later is probably that their bodies are so run-down they don't know what the hell they feel anymore."

The sheriff listens intently. By the end of the speech his eyes have softened.

He looks to Sara. "Is that the truth?"

Sara nods. "Yes. I think it is."

It is not the whole truth, but there is no need to mention her past. She realises Brass has hit the nail on the head, that her past would never have arisen from its grave without her exhaustion, the impossible hours and traumatic scenes.

There is a silence.

"And this was Conrad Ecklie's decision?" the sheriff asks.

"He told us to prove that we're a team," Warrick says.

"Would you say that you are?"

Warrick does not answer immediately, and the sheriff searches for an answer from Catherine.

"Absolutely," she replies, firm. "I know that we're an excellent team."

"Because?"

A smile parts her lips. She straightens, losing her patience.

"When you're _out _there, lying in the dust, searing pain ravaging your body, you learn if you're a team. It's when you know that you can count on them to keep you alive."

"It's when they stay," Sara adds, meeting the sheriff's gaze. "When they take care of you, hold your hand. When they monitor your pulse, and you know that no matter what happens, they'll keep you alive. It was four miles to that lodge and they carried me out. You can't underestimate that."

"And your communication?" the sheriff asks.

"We communicate fine," Nick answers.

"Do you?" he asks.

He folds his hands on the table, studying them.

"Then how do you feel?" he asks Catherine.

She looks fed up with the questions, with the games, and her blue eyes pierce his.

"I have a blinding headache," she says flatly. "I have for seven weeks."

Sara catches the look in Brass' eye, and knows he is thinking of her vomiting on the highway. She hopes he will not bring it up, and is grateful when he keeps his mouth closed.

"And you?" the sheriff asks, turning to Sara.

"I'm on crutches," Sara says, nodding to them nearby. "My feet are tender, but they'll be fine."

"Do you agree with Captain Brass' statement?" he enquires. "That you're tired?"

"I am mentally exhausted. I think we all are. And the ironic thing is, that in spite of what happened on that mountain, I felt better there than I had in a long time. I liked the hike. The trees, the forest, the stars. It was refreshing before things went wrong."

"Are you defending Ecklie?"

Sara hesitates. She can see Nick's raised eyebrow out of the corner of her eye.

"I think things have to change," she says firmly. "And quickly. I think Catherine should never have been out there, but that if we'd all been healthy, it would've been the best break we've had in a long time."

The sheriff falls quiet, taking in her words. As the waitress returns he takes the menu, and asks no more questions.

XXX

"You know I still can't believe he did that."

It is the next day, and Sara looks through her sunglasses at Nick across the table. They are in Catherine's backyard, sitting under the perfect blue sky, the rays warming her skin. In the air is the scent of the barbeque, and Warrick is poised with tongs, turning the meat. Her crutches are under the table, her bandaged feet up on a spare seat. Catherine looks more relaxed than she has in weeks, and even Grissom has been tempted away from the lab.

"Can't believe what?" Sara asks Nick.

"The sheriff," he answers. "Sitting us down like that, taking the time. You know it wasn't his concern."

"It wasn't six weeks ago, it is now," Catherine inputs, looking casual with her feet up and hair tied back.

"One injury is an accident," Grissom agrees. "Two and something is deemed to be wrong. Questions were raised about Ecklie's management, the sheriff had to investigate."

Sara nods idly. The sheriff's decision to ground both herself and Catherine was not a surprise. They are both officially on paid leave, with instructions to rest. There is also the promise of further help to be recruited, of roles opening up on the days and swing shifts in order to slash the amount of overtime done by themselves in graveyard. She knows he is following Brass' advice and checking into their overtime records.

A pleasant silence falls. She feels relaxed until she realises they are watching her. She meets Nick's eyes.

"You know, Sara," he says gently, "I know you don't want to talk about this, but we just want to say something, okay?"

Sara waits, slightly uncomfortable. She knows Grissom spoke to them days ago, and she has been waiting for the moment when they would bring it up.

"I know you've moved on, you like to leave it in your past. We respect you for that. But if you ever need something ... to step off a case, or take a moment, you know we've got your back, okay?"

It is with difficulty that she meets his eyes, the memories stirring within her. She nods, not speaking.

She hears Warrick nearby. "You gonna be okay?"

She does not look at them as she nods. "I'm fine."

She does not realise Catherine has moved until she is suddenly perching on her wooden armrest. A comforting arm slips around her shoulders, her hand rubbing her back through her thin cotton shirt.

"It's okay," she says simply.

"I'm not a wreck," Sara states, needing them to understand this. "It was a long time ago. Ancient history."

"Of course," Nick says. He nods in agreement, but his eyes are of bleeding sympathy.

"We all have our ghosts," Grissom says. "Sometimes they sneak up on us."

"We know you've been having a tough time lately," Catherine says. "Maybe the break is a good thing. A few days off, a bit of sunlight ..."

"I'll be fine," she says.

But this time she means it, and feels able to raise her eyes when saying it. There is something therapeutic about the blinding sunlight, the thought that she is free to sleep at home without setting an alarm. Catherine's arm is comforting, and it is this she appreciates, more than their words.

She sees also Grissom's gentle eyes locked on hers. Something has changed in him the past few days, and will change still further. But she is patient, knowing now that it is inevitable, sometime when the time is right, when they are alone. It is he who drove her to Catherine's place, herself forbidden to drive. Later, he will drive her home. Maybe then ...

She holds his eyes for as long as she dares.

The moment is broken by an echoing doorbell.

"Lindsey!" Catherine calls, glancing through the glass sliding doors.

"I got it!"

There is the sound of thumping feet, a distant murmur of voices. A moment later the sliding doors open to reveal Brass and Sofia, just off shift.

"Hey," Sofia greets, smiling widely.

She places a new six pack of beer on the table, accepts their chorus of greetings. Brass follows her. Sara removes her feet from the spare chair, settling them gently on the paving underneath the table. Catherine removes her arm from her shoulders, and moves to check on the barbeque with Warrick.

"What's news, Cap?" Nick asks.

"Well the shit's hit the fan, I'll tell you that," Brass replies, reaching for a beer. "Sheriff's had a word with Ecklie. Used his pride as a punching bag. Apparently the whole lab heard. Accused him of bullying, a lack of compassion with your injuries. He can't suspend him, but the meaning was clear. In any case, he should leave you all alone now. Give you a bit of a break."

"We're fine," Catherine says.

"Hope you are," he replies, not taking her word for granted. "But if anything like this happens again, give me a call. I've been around a while, know the right people."

"Thank you," Sara says. "For standing by us."

She looks too, to Sofia, not wanting to let their help go unthanked.

"You're welcome," Sofia replies. "I hope you feel better."

"Just don't do what this one did and rush back," Brass adds, indicating Catherine. "Take your time. Soak up some sun, take a walk in the park, recover. We don't want to see you back until you can run without pain."

She smiles, as does Catherine, who takes the jibe in her stride. Suddenly the world of possibilities opens to her, the prospect of life during the day which she has not had in years. Amongst the hordes of medical appointments there is shopping, perhaps to catch a movie, meet up with friends. It has been so long. Too long. She feels no urge to rush herself back to the waiting corpses.

"You're going to be okay, right?" Sofia asks.

"I'm absolutely fine," Sara replies.

And for the first time in days, she means it. Her friends around her, she knows now it will be fine, and that whatever happens in cases to come, they will support her. Smiling she reaches for a beer, enjoys the feel of the sun of her face, the playful laughter of Lindsey and her friend inside.

All will be fine.

* * *

_When I was about ten I went through a phase where I sleepwalked every night for a month. It is truly the weirdest feeling you can ever experience to wake up in another room with no idea what you're doing there. Weirder still if you don't wake up, and walk out for breakfast the next morning to someone saying (grinning), "Do you remember what you did last night?" So glad the experience only lasted a month._

_Regarding Sara's past, despite what I've written in this story, I don't believe for a second that Catherine was not told about her past after their argument in season 5. I really can't see any way out of that spat other than for Sara (or Grissom) to come clean, or at least drop a hint that there's a history. There's no other way they could have moved forward._

_Hope you guys enjoyed this story._


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